A reluctant smile found its way onto her face because truly, flattery will get you everywhere, especially when you mean it. I returned the smile as I realized perhaps there was still a chance for me to be just like Sarah when I grew up.

‘I’ll think about it and get back to you,’ she said, sliding off the stool and pulling back her shoulders. ‘Right now, I have to call Clive fucking Carden, apologize profusely and offer to make an obscene donation to the Crystal Ball Committee on Juliette’s behalf. She won’t be happy, she hates Carden.’

I flinched at the mention of the ‘C’ word. It was too strange that he was Evan’s father, that he was anyone’s father. It seemed to me that those kinds of people were only supposed to exist in boardrooms and in newspaper print, not at home, clipping their toenails or flicking through Netflix. And what was the point in having all that money and all that power when no one, not even your own family, actually liked you? I couldn’t help but think it must be a bit shit to be Clive Carden.

Sarah tucked her shirttails into the waist of her trousers and straightened her glasses, looking more and more like herself by the second. The panic was gone from her eyes and all I could smell now was a lingering trace of very expensive perfume.

‘Thank you for your help today,’ she said, following me around the winding spiral staircase and gazing around the newly tidied office as though she was seeing it for the first time. ‘I might actually get a couple of hours of sleep tonight.’

‘If I was your assistant, I would guarantee you a minimum of five hours, every night,’ I replied. I placed my borrowed laptop and phone on the edge of her desk before pulling the strap of my bag over my head, ready to leave.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

‘These are yours,’ I explained, giving them a tender pat. ‘The Juliette bible said to bring them back. Did you want them left on The Songbird?’

‘No,’ she said, settling back in behind her desk. ‘But if you’re going to be my assistant, I imagine you’ll need them.’

‘Really?’ I asked, picking up the laptop and clutching it to my chest. ‘I thought you wanted to think about it?’

‘I’ve thought about it. We’ll start with a one-week trial period. How soon can you begin?’

It took every ounce of self-restraint in my body not to say ‘right away’. This time, I wanted to do everything right. This was a job, not my reason for existing. I would set boundaries, I would respect my own needs, I would prove to myself that it was possible to be a brilliant assistant without being a complete martyr.

‘Thursday,’ I said confidently. ‘I can start on Thursday.’